A Rolling Acorn

I squeezed through the bottom gap of the screen door and stepped out onto the wide concrete porch. The morning felt vast and open. Right beside a woven doormat, I found a smooth, rounded acorn resting in a patch of golden light. I crept forward and nudged it with my soft paw. It rolled forward with a brisk little rattle, spinning over the textured stone until it bumped against the rim of a terracotta pot. I hopped after it, tapped it once more, and listened to the hollow click.